‘Yes, you do look a bit grey,’ Sue says, pulling out a plasticchair for me to sit on. ‘Morning sickness still with you? Although I’ve no idea why we call it that as it can happen at all hours. Are you coping with it OK?’
‘I’m fine. It’s not normally this bad,’ I say, feeling like a fraud.
‘That’s good then. Hopefully it should ease off in the next couple of weeks, it often does the further along you get. What are you now?’
She takes my notes and flicks through them. ‘Nearly sixteen weeks. Time flies, hey. And everything was good at your scan, yes?’
I nod.
She proceeds to go through her questions and take my blood pressure and my sample. All I can think of the whole time is that I wish she’d hurry up as I can’t wait to get out of here.
‘Let’s have a little listen then.’
She gets out what looks like a long thin trumpet and I climb up onto the bed and lift my top. You’d think they’d have some new-fangled equipment to listen instead of something which looks so old-fashioned. It reminds me of when we used to have cans and string to make telephones with. Sue moves the trumpet around my tummy as she listens. My head aches from watching her so I collapse back and close my eyes.
‘Is everything OK?’ I hear Mum say and my eyelids snap open.
Sue is pushing her chair back to stand. ‘I’m sure it’s fine, but baby’s being a little monkey and playing hide-and-seek. I think we’ll see about getting a scan to help us.’ She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and then she’s gone.
A cold shiver passes through me. ‘What’s happening?’ I whisper to Mum as I swing my legs off the bed and sit up.
She pats my thigh. ‘Nothing, I’m sure. They’re just being thorough.’
I want to blurt out what happened last night so she can tell me not to be stupid and none of this is my fault. But I can’t bringmyself to say it out loud. The pain in my head is excruciating and I rub my temples with both hands.
Sue’s head appears around the door. ‘Do you want to pop next door for me? The sonographer will be there in a minute.’
The room next door is the same one I was in with Jackson when our baby’s galloping heartbeat filled the room. I climb up onto the bed and the paper covering rips, but I don’t care. I’d give anything for him to be here with me now, squeezing my hand.
Sue and the sonographer, who is Jenny again, come in talking to each other in very low voices.
‘Hello again, lovie,’ says Jenny calmly. ‘Let’s see if we can find your baby.’
The gel feels even colder and she spreads it across my tummy with the wand. Like last time I can’t see the monitor no matter how I strain, so I lie back and stare blankly at the ceiling tiles. They’re cracked and chipped and have dirty brown patches across them. Mum’s fingers find mine and I lie like a statue and cling to her.
I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but Jenny seems to be pressing even harder on my tummy than before as she swirls the wand in circles.
‘She’s still got morning sickness,’ I hear Sue murmur and a lump lodges in my throat, because I know that’s not true.
‘I’m going to get the consultant to have a look. Won’t be a minute,’ says Sue, and before we can ask anything both women leave the room.
I swing around to look at Mum, pleading with her to tell me everything is going to be OK. Her eyes are glassy and she’s caught her lip between her teeth and doesn’t speak.
After what feels like an eternity, the door scrapes open and the room fills with person after person. A man in a pale green shirt and navy trousers introduces himself as the consultant andthen he sits down at the scanning machine. He puts another squirt of gel on my bump and then swipes the wand back and forth, stroking it around my tummy. Every now and then he pauses and clicks some buttons and twists a knob.
And then he sighs and it chills me to my core.
He hands me a paper towel to wipe the gel and swivels in his seat to face me head on.
‘I’m really sorry but your baby doesn’t have a heartbeat anymore.’
‘What does that mean?’ I scrunch the unused paper towel tight and Mum clutches my arm, her nails pinching me.
‘It means you’ve had a silent miscarriage.’ He glances at Sue for confirmation. ‘Your body hasn’t shown any signs, but your baby has no heartbeat so it’s not alive anymore.’
He’s so matter-of-fact in the way he says it, that I can’t take it in.
‘But she’s here. Look.’ My hand goes to my tummy and it slides across my skin in the gel.
